


Whatever Makes You Happy

by rubyrose



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: AUs, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Awesome Darcy Lewis, BAMF Darcy Lewis, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky the Soldier, Darcy Lewis's Taser, Darcy the Nurse, Darcy/Bucky oneshots, Drunk Jane Foster, F/M, Fluff, Protective Bucky Barnes, Smut, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Steve also has issues, Steve ships them come on, Truth or Dare, WW2 AU, an assortment of characters yet to be decided, specifically surrounding Bucky's welfare
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-01 22:59:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2790875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyrose/pseuds/rubyrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Bucky/Darcy oneshots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Who Doesn't Like Cuddling?

A Christmas tree? Cuddling? Maybe a cat? Who knows  
(Christmas fluff-ish). Rated T.

 

Bucky frowned at the cat and it gazed back at him, oblivious to the danger. It had no idea he could kill it with one hand, he thought. It wasn't aware of the horror stories that circulated around him. Stupid cat.

"What did Persephone do to you?" A small woman was standing in the doorway, wearing reindeer antlers that flashed different colours alternately and holding a mug shaped like a snowman. Bucky stared at her for a second, and then glanced away.

"You called the cat 'Persephone'?"

She stepped into the living room, taking a sip from the snowman. "Yes. I'm Darcy, by the way."

"James. Or Bucky. But you probably knew that." Darcy surprised him by walking forwards and sitting down on the sofa with him; most non-superheroes living in the Avengers Tower avoided him as much as possible. He hadn't decided whether he liked that or not.

"Yeah, but only cause Steve doesn't shut up about you," she smiled. "You didn't answer my question; why so much anger at Persephone?"

Bucky blinked, relaxing his tense shoulders slightly. "She kept trying to sit on my lap."

"Why is that a problem? Have you seen how fluffy she is?" she asked, incredulous at his disapproval.

He shifted, uncomfortable under her gaze. "I don't like... cuddling things. I'm not a cuddly person."

"Not even at Christmas?" she wrinkled her nose.

"Why would that be an exception?" he found himself quipping back, eyebrows raised in what could be classed as teasing.

"I don't know. People get sentimental around Christmas. Its kind of weird, actually," she frowned, looking at her snowman mug. "But, still, dude, you're missing out on cuddling."

"Yeah, well, metal arms aren't very cuddly," he replied curtly, shoulders set and his eyes hard. He could feel her looking at him, assessing him, drawing conclusions about him, affirming the rumours she had undoubtedly heard, and all the while, she chewed on her bottom lip, making it red and slightly swollen.

"D'you like decorating Christmas trees?" she said suddenly.

Bucky glanced at her. She was still there. "Um. Yeah."

"Wanna help with mine tomorrow?"

"Okay." He paused for a second. "You're not scared of me."

"Nope," she said, scooting closer and he could smell her perfume, sweet and delicious, as well as her coconut shampoo. "Which is lucky for you, because I'm going to teach you how to cuddle."

And then suddenly she was right beside him, curling into his side, her head resting on his chest, and he could feel the warmth of her body through his t-shirt. He tensed at first and he didn't know where to put his arms, but she took his wrist and circled it around her waist, snuggling closer to him, and he felt himself relaxing.

"See how nice this is?" Darcy murmured. "You're nice to lie on, by the way."

As it turned out, Bucky actually _did_ enjoy cuddling.


	2. Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has a date and needs Darcy's help to practice his kissing skills.  
> Rated M.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are much appreciated :)

“You want me to do _what_?”

Bucky fidgeted from where he was standing across the kitchen counter from her. “Just to practice for my date.”

“Why do you need practice?” Darcy asked, closing her book and looking at him properly, noting his restless hands and guarded expression. Bucky remembered Natasha’s words. _Everybody needs practice_.

“I haven’t- uh, it’s just, you know, been a while since I last kissed someone.” His cheeks were tinged pink.

“How long’s a while?”

Bucky sighed angrily. “How long do you think, Darce?”

It clicked in her mind suddenly, and was simultaneously obvious and surprising. Obvious because of the whole brainwashed-for-70-years thing, but then surprising because, well, his face. And the whole leather jacket wearing, dangerous bad boy vibe he had going on.

“No way,” she said, shaking her head. “But _look_ at you!”

Bucky glanced down at himself and then back at her with an embarrassed huff. “You gonna help me or not?”

Darcy ignored the little warning voice in her head and waved a hand absently. “Sure, sure. But, dude, seriously? Like not even that girl from intel?”

“No.” He rubbed the back of his neck, seriously regretting his decision to ask Darcy now.

“So literally nothing since 1942?”

“1945, and yeah, but you know what? It was a stupid idea.”

He turned to leave, face red, but Darcy jumped up from her seat. “Wait, wait,” she said, catching his arm and pulling him round to face her. “Sorry, I’m not teasing. It’s just really hard to believe.”

He made a face like, _you-were-totally-taking-the-piss-out-of-me-and-I-know-it_ , but she ignored him.

“Really, I’m sorry,” she tried again, pouting her lips and blinking up at him, triumph sweeping over her as he rolled his eyes and smiled. “So, who is this date tomorrow?” she asked.

He hesitated for a moment. “Claire,” he said, though his voice sounded uncertain. “I met her at the gym.”

Darcy nodded. “Prime hunting ground for the ladies,” she grinned, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

He gave her another withering look, but she could tell he was trying not to laugh behind his glare. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, I just don’t wanna mess up this date.”

Darcy shook her head a fraction too quickly. “Happy to help, Barnes. How d’you wanna do this?”

He swallowed and shifted closer. “Aren’t you meant to be the expert?”

“What are you trying to imply?” she said, eyebrows raised.

He just did that little shrug that she had become so familiar with, the one that was always accompanied by a small smile, and Darcy rolled her eyes.

“Come on then.”

Bucky shifted again, awkwardly, his hands resting on her shoulders as his face tipped forwards. And then his lips were pressing gently against hers; warm and soft and sweet and the exact opposite of how Bucky looked. His hands tightened briefly on her shoulders before he stepped back, opening his eyes to look at her.

“Okay,” Darcy nodded, “that wasn’t so bad.”

He groaned. “So it was shit.”

“No,” she smiled. “But you need to relax.”

She stepped forward, taking his hands, one warm and one cold, and placed them on her hips, before linking her arms around his neck.

“Relax. Got it,” he feigned an easy smile, but his heart was racing and he couldn’t swallow as he dipped his lips to meet hers for the second time.

This time Darcy rose on the balls of her feet to meet him half way, the press of their lips firmer. And Bucky grew more confident, spurred on by the way her hands were tracing light patterns into the back of his neck, and he darted his tongue out to lick along her bottom lip. Darcy only just bit back a moan of surprise and satisfaction and instead opened her mouth slightly, allowing their tongues to meet.

All too soon, Bucky was stepping back again, eyes opening slower this time and when they met Darcy’s, they were the eyes of a predator. And at that moment in time, Darcy did not mind being the prey.

“Yup.” She cleared her throat. “Good. Really good,” she nodded, breaking their intense gaze.

He too seemed to remember their circumstances and looked away, features reprising their usual docile brooding they were so apt at displaying.

“No problems there as long as you remember to relax.”

“Thanks for helping.”

“Anytime,” she replied, and her words hung in the air a second too long.

“Maybe we should practice once more,” Bucky said quickly. “Just so I remember about the hands.”

She sucked in a breath. “Good idea. Hands can be tricky.”

He wasn’t hesitant anymore, the notion of kissing a girl seeming to have returned to him as he pulled her closer, hands firm against her waist. They were close, toe to toe, and Bucky had pulled her hips flush against his, but he didn’t kiss her yet. Their eyes locked in the same deadly gaze, making Darcy slightly giddy. She didn’t know when her hands had moved to grip his upper arms, but she did know they felt fantastic - almost as good as his hands on her waist – and they were so firm.

When she couldn’t take it anymore, she gave him a slight tug downwards and then they were kissing again, the same innocent, chaste kiss from earlier.And then it changed.

Bucky’s tongue licked out again but this time her mouth was already open and she met him half way; hot, open mouthed kisses. Darcy couldn’t help but press herself into him more firmly, aware but not caring if it wasn’t really appropriate. Then Bucky made this noise at the back of his throat, like a low snarl, carnal and lust filled, and he was walking her backwards until her back met the kitchen counter. His thigh slipped between her legs as he continued to lick into her mouth and his hands began to wander; stroking up her sides and then down along her thighs.At this point, Darcy was beyond logical thought, and couldn’t refrain from grinding herself gently against his thigh, letting out a soft moan as she did so.

Bucky’s left hand had moved down to cup her ass, pressing her tighter against his leg as she grinded, the other moving up to her left breast, his thumb brushing over the nipple inadvertently. No help needed, Darcy thought. He’s good at this. She shivered and tangled her hands in his hair, arching her back and wishing this would never end.

As if he had read her mind and remembered who she was, Bucky drew back, breathing heavily, his hands returning to their neutral position on her hips. Their foreheads rested against each other, and Darcy would be lying if she said she didn’t use him for support.

Bucky lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes searching hers for a few long seconds. “Thanks again for helping,” he mumbled, stepping away unsteadily from where she was still pressed against the counter. He left with hunched shoulders and clenched fists.

“Anytime,” she murmured to the empty room.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Her lips were still buzzing from the evening before as she poured her cereal, being as stealthy as possible in her polka dot booty shorts and faded Iron Man top. She was no coward, but she also wasn’t particularly excited about confronting Bucky after whatever the hell that what last night.

“Hey.”

“Fuck,” she yelped, jumping round dramatically to find Bucky standing in the kitchen, the innocence of a new born puppy written across his face. “You need to wear a bell or some shit, Bucky.”

His mouth curved upwards slightly. Oh, those lips… pink and soft and-

“Sorry. Usually no one’s up this early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she mumbled, concentrating on pouring a very precise amount of milk, and definitely not how low his pyjama pants hung off his hips.

“Oh,” he said softly.

She could see him shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot in her peripheral vision, the silence lengthening between them, so obvious that it became almost a physical distance separating them, and Darcy struggled to find words to close the gap.

“The date,” she blurted at the same time that he mumbled, “My date-”

She smiled slightly and continued. “How did it go?”

“It was fine,” he nodded. “Claire was fine. I mean, great, y’know, really nice. And pretty and stuff.”

Darcy swallowed. “You kiss her?”

“Uh, yeah,” he glanced at her, metal hand hiding behind his back slightly in that way he did when he got uncomfortable.

“So… was I useful?” she said and tried to laugh, but it didn’t even sound realistic to her and Bucky’s features remained serious.

He looked at her a long moment, and then shook his head softly, as if exasperated with her for something. “The kiss… wasn’t- I mean, it was fine, but it wasn’t good. Like, uh, y’know, our one.”

Darcy could feel herself breathing heavier and her neck felt flushed and her lips were burning hot from the memory of their kiss. “It was pretty good,” she said quietly, tongue darting out over her lips nervously, and her eyes widened slightly when she saw his gaze immediately drop, eyes taking on that same hungry look from the night before.

“So, um, here’s the thing,” he began, taking a hesitant step forward, “I, uh, ended things with Claire. Not that they really begun. But that’s not… happening anymore.”

Darcy felt herself nodding. “Sorry to hear that.”

Bucky took another step, eyes burning darker than before, and he was close, only a foot or two away from her. “I don’t want to confuse this with anything else.”

“No,” Darcy shook her head, eyes locked with his.

“And you weren’t _useful_.” Another step. “I didn’t _use_ you.”

“Oh.” Her chest was rising and falling embarrassingly quickly.

“It was never like that.” He was so close now that she could feel his feather light breath on her face, minty and hot and delicious.

“Good,” she said, and then he kissed her again, and it was every bit as good as she remembered it being, only this time, they didn’t bother with the chaste, innocent part at the beginning.

His hands gripped her hips tightly, his tongue already tasting hers as he backed her into the kitchen counter, thrusting his hips into forwards when her legs parted and making her whimper slightly into his mouth. He did it again, slowly, drawing out a groan as she fisted his hair.

One hand found her breasts again, the other slipping under her top to trace the skin on her waist, and she thanked all things holy that she hadn’t bothered to put a bra on yet as his fingers brushed over her nipple, making her back arch. She forced her brain into action and moved her hands down from his hair to his abdomen, tracing the firm as hell ridges of his abs and then dipping below the waistband of his pants, and she smiled against his lips when he all but shivered against her, a low groan escaping from his throat.

She stopped smiling, though, when he dipped his hands into her shorts and began stroking over the skin of her upper thigh, making her legs part unashamedly as she gripped his shoulders tightly. His lips traced over her jaw and then began working on her exposed neck as he moved his fingers to stroke over her entrance, running through her folds and she heard him hum softly when he felt her wetness.

He may have needed help kissing at first, but it all seemed to be rushing back to him as he thrust a finger inside of her, pausing when she gripped his arms, motioning to the counter. In one fluid motion, he lifted her up to sit with one metal hand, the other still inside her. Darcy parted her legs wider and kissed him again, opened mouthed and needy and wet as he began pumping his finger in and out. He added another, and then began massaging her clit with his thumb, and Darcy couldn’t hold back her whimpers. She tried to remain as quiet as possible as his pace increased, but she was so damn _wet_ , and his fingers were so damn _quick_ , and she couldn’t stop the soft cry she made as he tipped her over the edge.

“Fuck,” she mumbled against his mouth. “You’re really good at that.”

“Let’s go see how loud I can make you scream,” he breathed, licking at her neck.

 _And who could refuse an offer like that?_ she thought, as she took his hand and all but dragged him back to her room. 


	3. Eyes Open, Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WW2 au, where Darcy is the nurse and Bucky is her patient.

Lewis!" a voice bellowed, struggling to prevail over the gunfire, explosions and screams of pain. 

 

Darcy rushed to the source of the shout, a fellow nurse who was wheeling a new patient into the already overcrowded front line hospital. 

 

"Gunshot to the stomach with shrapnel lodged in the left thigh. Extensive bleeding and possible infection," the nurse rattled off as they dodged past other patients and medical staff, eventually reaching an empty bed space. "He's all yours." 

 

Darcy pushed down the panic that was bubbling just below the surface and concentrated, possibly harder that she ever had in her life. The soldier's face was caked in blood and dirt, his uniform torn and muddy and the gunshot seeping dangerous amounts of blood. She prioritised removing the bullet and stopping the bleeding, efficiently cutting his clothes and grabbing a scalpel and tweezers. The man screamed in agony as she pulled out the bit of metal and continued groaning in pain when she cleaned the wound and began stitching it. 

 

"I'm sorry," she murmured, practised hands passing thread and needle through his skin. "I just have to stop this bleeding." 

 

"What happened to me?" he whispered in a hoarse voice that was raw with pain, taking her by surprise. Usually her patients were in too much pain, too unconscious, or too dead to ask her questions. 

 

"You were shot," she said, beginning to bandage up his stomach. "But you're gonna be just fine, soldier. I'm the best nurse here," she said with a lot more confidence that she was feeling. 

 

He surprised her again when he smiled up at her, his eyes glassy and face hazy. "You're the prettiest nurse here," he drawled, lips lazy and head lolling to the side as he fought to keep conscious. 

 

"Tell me something I don't know," she replied, stabbing a needle into his arm and injecting adrenaline into his system. "Keep fighting, soldier. I need you to stay with me. No closing your eyes, alright?" He nodded happily and then closed his eyes, still smiling that stupid damn smile. "Hey!" she slapped him lightly on the cheek. "Look at me! Eyes on the prize, soldier." 

 

She swore under her breath as his eyes slide closed again, and she began frantically cutting his pants to get to the shrapnel wound. 

 

“Stay awake,” she ordered, giving another light slap to his cheek.

 

His glassy blue eyes focused briefly on her face. "You wanna go on a date with me, doll?" he slurred, the ever annoying smile still gracing his muddy face. 

 

"You’re gonna have to stay breathing to take me on a date," she said as she dug out a piece of metal from his thigh. He yelled out, hands curling into fists against the bed sheets. "Sorry,” she breathed.

 

"Thas easy," he informed her, "but you have to _promise_." He reminded her of the drunken men back home in New York.

 

"I promise if you stay awake and alive I will go on a date with you," she agreed easily.

 

"Good," he smiled at her again as she continued sterilising and bandaging his leg wound.

 

“You wanna take me out or not?” she frowned as his head lolled. At her words, he snapped his eyes open again.

 

His wound was nasty, but he had avoided getting any ligaments, muscles or bones damaged. Providing he didn’t get an infection or die from loss of blood, he would live. Darcy tried not to read too much into how relieved she felt about that. It was dangerous to start caring during war.

 

“You're as good as new,” she told him, moving to his head.

 

Strictly, she was done with him now and didn't need to spend any more time with him. He would be checked again in a few hours, maybe by her, but probably not. She had done the best job she could, but she would never know if he made it. She would never find out if her best was good enough to save his life. 

 

"Here, let me clean you up, soldier," she said, her voice softer than she remembered it ever being since this god forsaken war began. Softness got you killed in war. The soldier sighed as she ran a wet cloth over his face, revealing his features beneath the marks of war. 

 

"It's Bucky," he mumbled. "Bucky Barnes." 

 

"Eyes open, Bucky," she said sharply as his lids drooped. 

 

He snapped them open quickly, lips quirking up again, and she was startled by just how handsome her patient really was when he wasn't covered in blood and dirt. She found herself almost sad that the date she had promised him would never happen. After all, tracking down a single soldier would be impossible, and that's assuming he would live to see the end of the war. 

 

"What's your name?" he blinked up at her. 

 

"Darcy-" 

 

"Lewis!" a voice bellowed again from the front of the ward. 

 

"Stay safe," she found herself telling Bucky. 

 

"Of course," he mumbled, "I've got a date."

 

Darcy turned and marched away from him, weaving through the masses of people to find her next patient. The hordes of injured didn't stop coming all night, and when she finally got a break late the next morning, her soldier's bed was empty. 

 

~~

 

The end of the war came and saw Darcy shipping back to New York, her eyes slightly darker, her shoulders slightly heavier. She had heard that war changed the soldiers, but no one had mentioned the women. No one told her she would wake sweating and crying in the middle of the night as the screams of the wounded and eyes of the dead haunted her. 

 

Still, life continued. Her parents hugged her when she returned home. She and her friends mourned the losses and celebrated victory, and just three weeks after getting home, she began work again at the hospital. And more than she liked to admit, she found herself thinking of the soldier with the bright blue eyes, Bucky Barnes, and hoping that he had not been killed. 

 

"Lewis, you finished with your rounds?" Head Doctor Newman asked. 

 

"Yes," she nodded, handing him a clipboard with her patients' evaluations and conditions. 

 

"Good, you can leave early then. It's quiet tonight." 

 

Darcy’s eyebrows raised and she grinned. "Thanks, Doc. See you Monday." She began walking to the changing room where her normal clothes and bag was when the Doctor called her name again. "Yes?"

 

"Forgot to say. There's someone waiting at reception to see you." 

 

"Oh, thanks," she replied, turning away again with a frown. She wasn't expecting anyone. 

 

After changing back into her dress and letting her hair out of its net, she rounded the corner to the reception desk with curiosity and found a tall, dark haired man leaning against the counter with his back to her, talking to the Louise, the receptionist. 

 

"...for Darcy Lewis, has she left yet?" 

 

"She hasn't signed out yet, but- oh, Darce!" Louise waved to her from behind the desk, looking slightly relieved. "This guy wants to talk to you." 

 

And then said guy was turning around quickly to face her, and familiar electric blue eyes met hers, and there was no mud on his face and no blood covering his body, but he was still wearing that damn _smirk_ , and it was undoubtedly _her_ soldier.

 

"Bucky?" 

 

"Hey, doll," he drawled, as easy as that, but his eyes were nervous and his hands fiddled by his side. “Remember promising me something a while back?”

 

"How... I mean, what- how did you find me?" she spluttered, walking forwards until she stood in front of him. And, damn, he was tall. Not something she had noticed when he had been lying on that hospital bed, but his shoulders were broad and his head was a good deal closer to the ceiling than hers was. 

 

"I asked a nurse back in France where you came from, she told me New York, and there are only three nurses called Darcy Lewis in New York. And the other two were both over forty, so..." he shrugged, like surviving war and tracking her down against all odds was a simple task. 

 

"I never even knew if you survived,” she breathed, running her eyes up and down his body. Distantly, she was aware of Louise staring at each of them in turn, mouth slightly agape as if watching a movie, and she knew all the girls at the hospital would know by the end of the day, but she simply did not care.

 

"I didn't get a chance to thank you for saving my life," he said, lips turned up in that increasingly adorable smile of his. "And, uh, I wanted to make sure you made good on your promise.”

 

Darcy grinned, "Yeah?"

 

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "So, I was wondering if you wanted to come dancing with me sometime," he smiled, and then added, "as in a date."  

 

"Well, I can't break my promise, can I?" she asked, tilting her head back to look at him. "And I do love dancing..." 

 

"So, when're you free, doll?"

 

"Tomorrow night?" 

 

"Give me your address, I'll pick you up at 8." 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

She’d be lying if she said she didn’t dress up for him. She wore her best burgundy dress, the one that showed more cleavage than her mother would approve of, and put her best red lipstick on. Bucky’s eyes said it all when he picked her up, his arm circling her waist tightly as they walked to the bar.

Darcy couldn’t remember the last time dancing had been so fun, and by the end of the night, his hands had wondered from their innocent starting place on her waist to occasionally dipping to squeeze her ass, accompanied by a smirk, and she sure as hell wasn’t complaining.

Her own hands took to playing with the dark hair at the back of his neck as they swayed to the music, and he dipped his head lower as they talked over the music. On several occasions she was sure he was going to kiss her, but he seemed to catch himself and pull away. She guessed he was trying to be a gentleman.

“You’re a good dancer,” he smiled as they left the bar, his arm around her waist again as she leant into his warm body.  

She shrugged with a smile. “I know.”

He chuckled as they wandered through the streets in the direction of Darcy’s apartment, her heels clicking against the pavement and her curls lifting in the breeze.

She looked up at him, taking in his sharp jaw line and pink lips, and shook her head slightly. “I’m glad you were my patient, Bucky Barnes.”

He smiled. “I’m glad you saved my life.” She laughed, but he shook his head. “I mean it, doll. You were my shining angel in all the death, all the killing and the fear and the horror.”

He stopped walking, facing her and resting his hands on her hips, a light smile on his lips but something deeper in his eyes. They were both quiet for a few moments and while staring into his eyes, glimpsed a heaviness and darkness within Bucky that she hadn’t noticed before, something broken and angry and hurt, something that she could relate to.

“Do you still remember?” she whispered. “Does it still wake you up at night?”

He nodded slowly. “You too.” It wasn’t a question.

She hesitated; how could her experience possibly compare to the horrors he had witnessed? A nurse saw the effect, a soldier saw the cause.

“Doll?” he prompted, concern on his features.

"It’s terrifying," she breathed, "which makes it worse, because how little had I seen compared to you? And so how much worse will it be for you?”

He paused, stroking her waist, and she got the impression he did it unconsciously, which almost made her smile.

“It doesn’t mean it’s any easier for you. You’re not _ignorant_.” He spoke slowly, considering the words. “A lot of people don’t even think… They can’t imagine…” his voice trailed off, jaw clenching as he stared at a spot over her shoulder.

She tentatively raised a hand to his cheek, her heart beating slightly faster when he instinctively leant into her touch and looked at her. There were no words to comfort or repair; the war had changed and broken people and given no hope for returning to whatever things were like before it.

She had to stand on her tip toes to kiss him, because he was so damn tall, and at first he was unresponsive, probably because he was shocked (she hoped), his hands limp against her waist and his lips unmoving. But then his brain seemed to catch up and suddenly Darcy was being _kissed_. Better than she’d ever been kissed before; fully, passionately, unashamedly, and his hands were no longer limp. They gripped her hips, keeping her body flush against his as his tongue swept across hers, and she could feel her breasts pressing tightly against his chest, and knew that he could too.

When they parted, foreheads and noses still touching, breathing quickly, the only thing Darcy could think to say was, “You’ve got lipstick on your mouth.”

He grinned lazily and kissed her full on the lips again before answering. “I kinda like it. Makes me feel like I’m yours.”

Darcy had to hide her smile in his neck.


	4. Not You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Standard soulmate au. Turned out a bit heavier and longer than I expected. I wrote it listening to the slow version of Crazy in Love, if anyone wanted to do the same while reading. Enjoy!  
> Warnings: mentions of self harm. Rated T.

_Not you_

When Darcy was younger, around the time everyone became aware of their soulmark, she kept hers hidden. No crop tops, no bikinis; nothing to expose her ribs and the words that were scrawled there. She joined in with the others; dreaming of romantic circumstances that her soulmate would utter the words, but, really, is there a romantic way to say “ _not you_ ” to someone?

No one knew her words, which was almost as bad as if they were written on her forehead, because they all knew there was something _wrong_ with her words.

Jane had asked her tentatively, “You do… _have_ words?”

Darcy had laughed, “Of course.”

And most of the time, she _did_ have words. It was only sometimes that they faded; soft, greying ink, nearly as pale as her skin, and sometimes they were so faint that she could only read them because she had traced their outline so many times.

But they always came back. She clung to that. She wanted to hate them; she wanted to be glad when they disappeared, but her heart did that fluttery thing every time they got fainter, and she couldn’t stop touching them when they returned. Strong, beautiful, black cursive contrasting her soft, unmarred skin.

She was tempted, on several occasions, to ask Bruce about them. Bruce knew everything about soulmarks, but she would always chicken out when she got to his lab with, “Do you need another drink?”, and he would decline politely, but his eyes held a kind of exasperated disappointment.

Her work at Stark’s tower distracted her for a while; the aftermath of New York and then DC kept her focused on the people she had, and how best to keep them alive. It didn’t take Steve and Sam long to find Bucky, and he was immediately brought to the Avenger’s tower in secrecy, away from the public and the government.

“Have you seen him yet?”

“Hm?” Darcy glanced up from her phone.

Jane bobbed her head and widened her eyes. “Y’know, Bucky. The Winter Soldier. Sergeant Barnes. Whatever you wanna call him.”

“Oh. A couple times in the corridor. At a distance.”

“Scary?”

Darcy hesitated. She wasn’t _scared_ of him; it was closer to the sort of fascination that dangerous things always commanded. Like she was watching a tiger, or learning about a black hole, or holding a gun. “Little bit. I wasn’t that close though.”

Jane snorted. “Don’t think anyone will get within 20 feet while Steve’s still breathing.”

At the time, Darcy whole heartedly agreed; Steve was borderline freakily watchful over his friend, only permitting Bruce and Tony to see him for medical reasons. She sometimes wondered if Bucky and Steve still had soulmarks, or if they faded during the passing years, chances lost and swallowed by time.

 

 

Bruce called her a few weeks into Bucky’s rehabilitation.

“I need your help with something.”

“Bruce, I took poli-sci, not thermo-nuclear physics,” she laughed down the phone.

“It’s just a bit of research, I promise.”

The bit of research turned out to be digging up history on Bucky; his early health records, enlistment assessment, and, most importantly, Zola’s experiments. It took a while, even for her, but she eventually stumbled on Hydra records documenting Experiment 76: Зимний солдат, which predictably translated to _the Winter Soldier_. 

She tried not to read it, she really did, but her eyes glanced over the document and some words simply jumped out.

_Patient exhibits anger … attempts at self injury … destruction of memories has begun … physical punishments effective ... soulmark reappears continually despite efforts-_

She tore her eyes away, face burning with shame at the invasion of Bucky’s privacy, but her mind continued to replay the last words over and over. _Reappears_. She felt sick, fingers shaking as she printed the document and her mind would _not_ _shut up_. There were tears threatening, ( _exhibits anger)_ , as she held the sheets away from her body, _(self injury)_ , as if they were dangerous, _(destruction of memory)_ , hurrying down the corridors to Bruce’s lab, _(physical punishments)_ , and bursting through the door unannounced, _(soulmark reappears continually)_ , only to find two heads turn to the door instead of one.

She could hear her own breathing; loud, unsteady, irregular, as she tried to maintain composure, but she could feel her hands still shaking.

“Oh, hey Darcy. What’s up?” Bruce asked, turning back to whatever he was doing to Bucky’s metal arm.

She watched Bruce’s hands making precise and steady movements, then trailed her eyes up and over the metal limb to find he was gazing right at her, eyes hard and unflinching. She immediately looked away, the papers in her hands feeling red hot. Her eyes had landed on his bare torso and even from the distance she was standing at, deep scars were visible on his collarbone. _(Self injury)_. Her hand unconsciously went to her upper thigh and she couldn’t get her breathing under control, and her face was red, and he was still _staring_ at her, so she just slammed the papers down on the nearest desk and booked it out of there, half running back to her apartment on the floor above.

It took her 20 minutes to calm down, and only 25 for Bruce to knock at her door.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I- just,” she hesitated, “…saw some of the research. It wasn’t very nice. What they did to him.”

Bruce sagged slightly. “No.” He paused. “He’s getting better though. The research will help us.”

“Good,” she nodded, “that’s good then.”

There was another pause. “Anything else upsetting you?”

_(Soulmark reappears continually)_

“Nope,” she said, giving him a small smile. “As long as he’s getting better.”

 

 

 

The next time she saw him, four days later, she was with Jane and Natasha, and Jane had just made an extremely crude comment about a certain measurable body part of Thor’s, and she was laughing so hard that a tear had escaped her eye as they walked into the kitchen.

He was standing facing away from them, a hoodie covering his torso and a band securing the hair from his face, clearly fresh out the gym.

“Hey,” Natasha said easily.

Bucky turned and nodded at her, continuing to drink some (frankly gross looking) green liquid. Darcy was still wiping the tear from her eye, her stomach muscles still burning from laughter when he snapped his gaze on her, their eyes meeting again, for longer. She had time to note the dark colour of his eyes, the crinkles around the lids, the way his brows pulled together in a slight scowl. He was the one to look away first, finishing his drink and dumping the glass in the sink as he nodded once more and ducked out of the kitchen.

“What was that all about?” Jane questioned.

“What do you mean?”

“Your intense, lust filled staring contest with ex-brainwashed over there,” she replied with a huff, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Lust filled?” Darcy raised an eyebrow. “And I think it barely lasted three seconds, Jane. Don’t get too excited.” She made a beeline for the coffee pot.

“I don’t know,” Natasha chipped in, smirking slightly as she met Darcy’s eye. “I’m thinking Jane’s right about this one.”

And when Natasha thought something, she was generally right.

 

 

A week and several lust filled staring contests later, she was attempting to open a door while balancing four folders, a coffee for Tony in her left hand as she experimented using her foot to lever the handle and shove the door open. She had just got the hang of it when she lost her balance, only slightly, but it was enough for her to pitch backwards dangerously, and she would have ended up under a pile of coffee soaked folders if it hadn’t been for the hand that shot out to steady her.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she was pulled upright again, glancing upwards over the stack of folders to meet Bucky’s dark eyes; intense and dark as always, but softened round the corners, and his lips were curved upwards in what could be classed as a smile. Darcy would be lying if she said she wasn’t at least a little bit flustered by being so close to him, partly fear, but mostly because he looked and smelt _amazing_.

She glanced at his metal hand, still gripping her arm gently, and grinned. “My knight in shining armour.”

Wrong thing to say, apparently. His smile disappeared, eyes filling with anger as he stumbled back a step, clutching his left arm to his body, chest rising and falling quickly. Darcy froze; unsure whether he wanted to kill her or run away, her own breathing fast as she tried to work out how to alert Jarvis to Bucky’s possible imminent murder.

When he spoke, his voice was barely audible; barely a whisper, lips hardly moving, dark eyes gazing at her with fear and sadness right before he turned on his heel and rushed unsteadily from the room.

“Not you…”

Oh. _Oh_.

 

 

 

Darcy hadn’t told anyone. She hadn’t seen him either, and frankly, she was running out of ideas and patience. It had suddenly and horribly made sense; her words would fade when he was frozen, returning when he was woken.

She was at least 85% sure Bucky would not come and find her to talk about it. At this point, she was almost certain he would try to forget the whole thing and never speak of it again. Either way, she knew if she wanted to talk, _she_ would have to go and find _him_ , which was a lot easier said than done when he clearly didn’t want to be found.

She tried; she really did, but a week had passed and she hadn’t even come close. She was upset, and everyone in the tower could tell, but telling someone was out of the question.

“You’re still coming tonight right? Not that you have a choice,” Tony had asked her, grabbing left over pizza from the fridge.

“If you’re still threatening to kick me out of my apartment if I don’t show, then yes,” she replied with an eye roll.

“That I am. It’s mandatory bonding time,” he informed her.

“It’s a party with 150 people, I doubt I’ll even see you.”

Tony squinted and shrugged. “Maybe you’ll meet someone tall, dark and handsome?”

Darcy all but recoiled, swallowing harshly and taking a deep breath.

“What did I say?” he frowned in concern. “Did someone tall, dark and handsome fuck with you?”

She bit her lip. “Not exactly.” He went to speak again, but she shook her head. “Don’t worry, Stark. I’ll be there, I promise.”

She was angry at herself for getting so dressed up, and angrier because she tried to convince herself it wasn’t for him, but who was she kidding? The one person who was meant to love and understand her didn’t even want to _know_ her. So here she was, at a massive party with people she barely knew, dressed in her gorgeous burgundy dress with killer heels and on point makeup, lacking only a soulmate.

She circulated for a while, drink in hand, but her smiles were forced and found herself moving towards the open and empty balcony. The fresh air hit her face, a contrast to the stuffy heat from inside, and she almost smiled until she noticed someone else leaning against the edge of the rail, looking out over the city. He had a generic black suit on and she couldn’t see his arm, but she instinctively knew it was _him_. She resented the jolt that ran through her body.

She turned on her heel to leave, not in the mood to talk to him, but he turned to face her suddenly.

“Don’t go.”

She paused, eyes meeting his again, and she saw the raw pain held there. Despite her best efforts, her heart beat irregularly and she wanted to erase his pain. But she squared her shoulders and tossed her hair back.

“You talking to me now?”

His eyes turned even sadder, and her resolve faded for a moment. “I’m sorry…” He glanced away, taking a swig from his glass and looking out over the city. “You know I can’t even get drunk?” he laughed without humour.

She nodded. “Neither can Steve.”

He bit his lip, glancing at his nearly empty glass. “I’m not normal.” He stated it as a fact, no emotion. “I’m not a normal person. Like you. You…” he trailed off, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “You have no idea how much I want to be, not even for me, but for you. Even before I knew about the words, I wished it could work…”

Darcy’s eyes widened slightly, and she took a few steps forward to stand next to him, but remained silent.

Another swig. “But it couldn’t. I’m fucked up, Darcy.”

She ignored the shiver that ran through her at the sound of her name. “That’s why?”

He didn’t seem to hear her. “God, I’m sorry. _Not you_ … You went years with that written on you. I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “But it’s not because of me?”

He looked her, confusion in his eyes. “Of course not.”

She looked away from him, eyes running over the lit up city as she felt something lift from her. It took her a few moments before she could look at him again.

“I tried to get rid of them.” His voice was quiet and she closed her eyes briefly. “I didn’t want someone to own me like that.” _(Self injury)._ “And then they tried to as well. But they would just come back someplace different.” _(Soulmark reappears continually despite efforts-)_

She shook her head sharply, teeth digging into her lip as she fought back tears. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you see now? Do you see how fucked up I am?”

She didn’t answer, turning away from him to face the city, watching the calmness of the black sky contrasting the movement and light on the street below. She was silent for a while. “What are you gonna do?” She turned back to him.

He had been watching her, and unconsciously moved closer to her as he answered, “I don’t know.”

“We’re all fucked up.” She twisted to face him, their bodies close on the vast balcony.

“You’ll be in danger.”

“I often am.”

His left hand was gripping the balcony rail, as if grounding him, reminding him of what he was. “I’m trying to be selfless.”

“Well, it’s not really working. You’re just upsetting both of us.”

His tongue darted out to lick his lips, drawing her attention immediately, as he stepped even closer. She could feel the heat from his body, hear his breathing, smell his cologne, almost taste his lips.

“I usually have complete self-control,” he murmured, “but I can’t seem to help myself around you.” Her breath hitched. “I’m not good for you,” he warned, one of his hands weaving around her waist, drawing their hips together.

“I don’t care,” she whispered.

She got the sense of falling as their lips met, his tongue sliding over her lips, his hands moving to grip her hips as hers wound themselves into his hair. She groaned slightly into his mouth; an overwhelming feeling of _belonging_ washing through her, her soft body pressed to every hard line of his, his scarred skin pressing against her unbroken skin. His tongue became more insistent, a hand dropping down to squeeze her ass as he turned to press her against the balcony rails, his hips grinding slightly into hers.

“God,” she breathed as his lips moved to her throat, wet, open mouthed kisses pressed along her clavicle, teeth nipping out to tease the base of her throat as he slipped a thigh in between her legs. “Jesus, Bucky…”

He drew his lips up again to kiss her, thoroughly, intimately, insistently, like he would die if he didn’t. Darcy knew the feeling, grinding down onto his leg almost desperately, fists gripping his hair. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled against her lips. “I’m so sorry…”

She frowned, hands finding his jaw as she looked at his dark, sad eyes, mirroring her desire, but also showing guilt. “Don’t be sorry. Please. I’ve waited for you, and I’m not sorry.” She kissed his cheek. His nose. His forehead. His jaw. His lips.

He leant into her, letting her hold him for a second. He began dropping kisses on her neck again, their lips meeting again, his hands grazing the length of her body.

“Don’t ignore me again,” she whispered.

He lent his forehead against hers, their bodies pressed together, intertwined, unsure where one started and the other stopped.

“Never.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, any requests can be made at my blog, b-barnes.tumblr.com  
> Thanks for all the comments and kudos!


	5. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bucky jogs shirtless past Darcy's window every morning.

Every damn morning, right when she was pouring her coffee into her favourite mug, he would be there. Jogging along the pavement in front of her window, wearing tracksuits and trainers and nothing else.

It started one morning in May; the first few times saw him being decent enough to keep a shirt on, but that had long since been abandoned in the heat of the summer, and seriously, his abs were all kinds of incredible. Especially when he was breathing hard, torso sweaty, muscles working, and Darcy would be lying if she said she hadn’t spilled her coffee down herself at least a few times.

The worst bit was he noticed her; pink lips curving into a smirk, eyes catching hers as he turned his body and jogged sideways for a few steps. Damn cocky bastard, running half-naked and having the audacity to smile at her while doing so.

Darcy would have long since jumped on that train - offered him some juice, a running partner, a blowjob, but she was holding out for Daniel-I’m-a-super-rich-accountant from work. She was no cheater, even when hot and sweaty literally dangled himself in front of her nose every day.

But then she found Daniel with some other guy from accounting in a store cupboard, and she wasn’t so much upset (if she’s honest, she was in it for the money from the start), but angry because she could have cheated _ages_ ago.

Her chance with hot and sweaty came in the form of a small, annoying sausage dog (Darcy had always been a cat person) that someone had let off the lead, the tiny dog opting to make its way past her window at precisely the same time that hot and sweaty came jogging by, exactly the same time as usual and in the opposite direction to the little dog. Darcy was, as usual, pouring her coffee, and hot and sweaty was, as usual, turning to wave at her as he passed her window. But that was where the usual stopped.

His gracefully lope was cut short when one of his feet met with the small dog that was trotting along, his face dropping the smirk in return for a look of confusion, then anger, then terror as he tripped over his own feet and fell flat on his face. Darcy gasped and swore, putting her coffee mug down hastily as she ran to her front door.

“Are you okay?” Darcy questioned, running to the sidewalk and dropping to her knees next to hot, sweaty and now bloody-kneed. “Can you stand?”

He glanced up at her, dark hair and eyes making her mouth slightly dry. “Yeah, it’s just a graze,” he said easily, offering her that damn smile again as she helped him stand up.

And fuck her, he was tall. Broad shouldered. Shirtless. Still smirking. This man would be the death of her, she knew it.

“D’you wanna come in? I’ve got ice.”

“That would be great,” he smiled again.

“No problem.” She kept a hand on his shoulder, purely for support of course, as they walked into her house.

“I always imagined the living room would be on the right,” he murmured as they passed the door on the left of the hallway.

“Sorry to disappoint,” she laughed. “Okay, let’s see,” she mumbled, opening the freezer, “frozen peas?”

“Please.”

“Sit,” she instructed, pointing to her kitchen table.

Hot and sweaty hopped onto the table, propping his leg against a chair as Darcy cleaned, wiped and plastered the cut.

“So, I still don’t know your name,” he said. “Or shall I just refer to you as the cute girl who’s smitten with me?”

Darcy raised her eyebrows with a laugh. “Oh am I?”

“C’mon, don’t pretend you haven’t spilt your coffee on account of my presence,” he teased, dark eyes light and playful.

She looked up, mouth agape. “How did you notice that?”

“So you admit it!”

She laughed again, placing the frozen peas on his leg. “Hey, at least I didn’t fall and cut myself because I was staring at the super-hot girl in the window.”

He met her eyes, shoulders relaxed and lips curved upwards. “You got me there. Can’t deny that, I guess.”

She pressed her lips together to stop from grinning. “I’m Darcy. Darcy Lewis.”

“Bucky Barnes. Pleasure to meet you.”

She couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face. “You want some water?”

“Sure. So, now we’ve established this is a mutual thing, can we stop pouring coffee on ourselves and falling over?”

She handed him a glass, pretending to consider his words as she leant against the kitchen counter. “Well, I _guess_. If you don’t enjoy falling over.”

He jumped down from the table, placing the peas on the side and walking towards her, downing the water as he did. Darcy knew it was an intentional play because now she was all flustered and hot as she watched his throat and jaw move to swallow the liquid.

“Don’t get me wrong, I like it. But I can think of some other fun things we could do.” He was standing right in front of her now; she could feel the heat from his naked torso. He reached behind her to place his glass down and she had to bite her lip to keep from groaning.

“Don’t you have some place to be?” Darcy needed to maintain at least _some_ composure. Jane was always saying she was too easily wooed.

“It’s a Saturday. I don’t work on Saturdays.” He rested his hands either side of her hips, none of his body touching hers, but the way his eyes were raking over her made her feel like he was.

“Neither,” she murmured, throwing caution to the wind as her eyes dropped down to his lips.

“May I ask why you were awake at 6:30 on a Saturday if not for work?” he teased, lips curving up again.

“Waiting for you,” she admitted. “And yourself?”

“The same.”

“What a coincidence.” She arched her back slightly and inhaled so that her breasts skimmed his bare chest, smiling when his mouth fell open slightly.

His eyes held her for a moment more before Darcy couldn’t take it and she lent upwards to kiss him. The first kiss was hesitant; experimental. Then his hands found her waist and he was pressing himself into her, kissing her in a way that was anything but hesitant as she tugged on his hair.

They didn’t quite make it to the bedroom; the living room was the best they could manage, and Darcy found herself being fucked on her sofa by Bucky Barnes, and ironically, _she_ was now hot and sweaty. And Jesus Christ he knew how to fuck someone. Darcy could only grip his shoulders as he lent above her, driving his hips into her at a hard fast pace, exactly what she wanted, and before long she was gasping through an orgasm.

Bucky pulled out of her knelt on the floor, spreading her thighs with his hands and before Darcy could even think his mouth was on her and she was swearing and moaning above him. He used his tongue on her already sensitive clit while his fingers fucked inside of her and Darcy fell apart easily, hands pulling his hair and toes curling behind his shoulders.

Darcy’s bones felt like jelly; she hadn’t had sex that good in months, and then he pulled her to stand up, kissing her intimately, hands wandering over her naked body. He walked them backwards around the sofa and then turned her, and Darcy was happy to bend over, gripping the back of the sofa as his still hard length slid inside her again. She was a sucker for this position; the angle hitting her g-spot just right and before long his groans were mixing with her screams of pleasure. His fingers found her clit again, circling furiously as he kept up the fast pace and Darcy orgasmed for a third time, body spasming beneath him, but he kept going. She tried to pry his fingers from her sensitive clit but his movements continued and Darcy could feel herself impossibly on the way to a fourth orgasm. He bite down on her neck, groaning in a broken tone as his other hand found her nipple, pulling it slightly, and at that Darcy couldn’t hold it together any longer. She was pretty sure her neighbours would complain tomorrow as she yelled out profanities, but at that moment she couldn’t have cared less. His swore with a strained voice, coming inside of her and slowing the motion of his hips until they were both still.

“Fucking hell,” Darcy managed.

He placed a wet kiss to the back of her neck. “Wanted to do that a long time.”

“Fucking hell,” Darcy repeated. He laughed, pulling out of her and disposing of the condom as she straightened up. “We should have done that sooner.”

He handed her her panties – they had been discarded somewhere on the floor – and offered her that damn smirk, only now it was ten times hotter. “Guess we’ll just have to make up for it.”

Darcy pulled on her underwear as he walked over, kissing her again gently. She deepened the kiss, running her hands along his smooth back.

“You wanna go grab some breakfast? I know this place that does the best pancakes,” Bucky mumbled, fingers tracing patters on her hips. “I’m starving.”

Darcy blinked for a second, smiling widely. “Sounds good.”

She kissed him, his fingers finding her breasts again as she pressed into him, and hey, so what that they took another hour to leave the house? Breakfast could wait.


	6. I Don't Like Them Innocent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sort of dark/angsty au where Bucky and Darcy are rival criminals. Rated M.

 I've expanded this oneshot into a proper fic with and plot and chapters which can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10496553) :)

**

 

Darcy curses as she drops one of the stacks of money, the notes scattering on the floor in disarray. She grimaces as she thinks about kneeling on the floor to pick them up, undignified and uncomfortable in heels and a skirt.

“Need a hand, sweetheart?”

She draws her 10mm G20, her attention still on the money at her feet, and aims the pistol to her left, where she knows he will be standing with his own gun drawn.

“This place is mine. Find your own bank.”

“I already did,” he protests. She turns to find him in his worn leather jacket, gun aimed low, duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He has a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, and a few strands of dark hair have escaped from their usual slicked back position. “What does it say about us that you’re aiming for my head and I’m aiming for your foot?”

“Probably that you need to stop inviting yourself to my parties.” Her eyes are light and her red painted lips are quirking up slightly.

“Well, I wouldn’t know you were here, sweetheart, but for your goddamn Porsche parked outside.” He takes a drag from the cigarette.

“Well, I wouldn’t know that you were gonna walk in here, Barnes, but for your goddamn motorbike engine.”

“You only drew the gun when I spoke,” he points out, a smirk on his lips.

Her smile grows darker. “Take it as a compliment. I only shoot people I like.”

“But I haven’t even finished my cigarette.” He glances at his watch and raises his eyebrows. “You better get movin’, doll, you got around 45 seconds to get outta here.”

Her head turns sharply at the wail of a police siren and she drops the smile. “You didn’t.” She cocks the gun, finger covering the trigger and points at his head.

“They followed me,” he shrugs, tilting his head in what could be an apology, taking a final toke of the cigarette before flicking it to the floor. “Finished the fag. Go ahead and shoot, sweetheart.”

“You fucking bastard,” she growls. Her eyes flicker from him to her money to the door of the vault that will be swarming with cops any second. She lets out a sharp hiss and stows her gun, scooping as much money into her bag as she can.

“Can you even run in those shoes, doll?” She can hear the smirk in his voice. “The police have cars.”

She zips up the bag and throws it over her shoulder. “I can do better than that,” she smiles, but its closer to a sneer as she strides forward and kicks him in the stomach. He doubles over, winded and surprised, and she carries on walking.

“You better get moving, Barnes. You’ve got about 10 seconds to get outta here.”

“I’ll be there before you, sweetheart, don’t worry,” he calls after her breathlessly.

She makes it into her red Porsche as the police are pulling up to the bank, blue and red lights making her flinch. She keeps the gun in her lap.

“Miss,” an officer calls as he jogs to her window, “you need to move away, we have a potentially dangerous criminal in the area.” His gaze doesn’t drop further than her chest.

“Dangerous?” Her hand flies to her mouth. “Should I take the long way home?” Her other hand clenches in a fist around the gun.

“That might be best. You call us if you see anything suspicious.”

She barely restrains the snarl that builds inside her and instead watches him jog away. She has to take several deep breaths before she drives away.

Back when she had nothing of her own, when she was beaten and broken and bloodied, she had seen a woman with long dark hair and a beautiful, red-lipped smile driving a red Porsche with the top down through the streets of New York. She had believed she had seen happiness that day. She drives with the top down now through deserted Chicago, a warm breeze lifting her long dark hair from her damp neck, and she doesn’t smile.

The darkness and calmness presented by the early hours of morning relaxes her. She would often stumble, high and terrified, out of the cramped loft in Brooklyn, escaping for a few minutes into the hushed streets. He would find her, but for some precious time, she was free, alone, limitless in the darkness.

She pulls up beside the apartment block and gets out quietly, locking her duffel bag of cash in the trunk. The gun stays on her hip as she makes her way inside the building to room 505, kicking the door shut behind her and fixing the deadbolt across.

“Told you I’d beat you here, sweetheart,” he smirks from the bed, nursing a glass of scotch, leather jacket draped on a chair and one arm folded behind his head.

“I was enjoying the drive.”

“Surprised you didn’t run me down if I’m honest,” he smiles, but he has a glint in his eye which Darcy knows means tonight he wants to fuck rough.

“I still might, Barnes.” She pushes her underwear down from underneath her skirt, stepping out of the lace and inadvertently shivering at the appreciation on his face. “You know how I feel about cops.”

He stands abruptly, and she can see the outline of his already hard dick. “Keep the shoes on,” he says, discarding his drink and unzipping his black pants. Darcy rolls her eyes because even his underwear is black. “Cops were an honest mistake, doll,” he shrugs. “Cross my heart.”

“You don’t have one.”

His smile stills and becomes like ice, and it spreads across his whole body. “What would you know about having a heart, darlin’?” She can tell he is working hard to keep his voice light. “You’re probably just here to steal my fuckin' money.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Bad day, Barnes?”

“Look, you wanna fuck or not?” His tone is strained, sharp edges under his sarcasm, and Darcy doesn’t push him because she needs this even more than he does.

She doesn’t answer, only shoves him back to the bed again, straddling his lap. His hands are hot and calloused, ghosting over her thighs with an insensitivity that leaves Darcy wanting without knowing what. His fingers slip into her, but she pulls at his hair sharply, shaking her head.

“You wanna sprinkle some rose petals while you’re at it?” she says sharply, rising to her knees so she can push his underwear out the way.

Her mocking pisses him off, his eyes darkening, and before she can sink onto his length, he pushes her around so that she is flat on her back on the bed. He pulls her hips roughly forward to the edge of the bed where he is standing, his fingers no longer ghosts but claws, and enters her quickly, her knees around his hips.

He fucks her with hard, quick thrusts which make her want to scream but she doesn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead she groans, biting her lips and digging her nails into his arms hard enough to leave marks. He palms her breasts through her bra, pulls her hair. She comes twice before he’s even close to done, and then once more when he rubs her clit furiously, his thrusts uneven. She grinds back on him when he comes, low moans falling from his lips.

He retreats to the bathroom afterwards, the door firmly shut behind him. She finds her underwear, reapplies her lipstick, fixes her hair. It takes her less than a minute to find the duffel bag full of his stolen cash he hid behind the dresser, and she is gone before the bathroom door opens.

 

** 

 

Continue reading [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10496553)


	7. The Side Effects of Tequila

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "I slept with you the other day and I didn't know we had a mutual friend and now we're sitting across each other for brunch and it's awkward because I ran out when you were asleep"  
> Tweaked slightly to fit the characters, enjoy!!

 

It was a well-known fact that Darcy Lewis could not handle tequila. Vodka? No problem. Gin? Gross, but sure. Wine? Absolutely. But tequila always ended in bodily harm, poor decisions and on one occasion, a small explosion involving gold glitter and Steve’s suit, that resulted in the newspaper headlines ‘AMERICA’S GOLDEN BOY’ and ‘MISS AMERICA: SUPERHERO PAGEANT STAR’.

That’s why she wasn’t surprised when she woke up naked, next to an equally naked man, in a strange apartment. Annoyed, yes, but not surprised; she just blamed the tequila. She sat up, stifling a groan as the mother of all hangovers made itself known, and peeked over at the guy’s sleeping form. He was lying on his left side, breathing evenly, but regardless of the softness that sleep lent his features, there was something fierce in the line of his jaw; a roughness in the shape of his mouth.

He stirred slightly in his sleep and Darcy leaped backwards, realising how creepy it would be if he woke up with her watching him sleep. Even if he was incredibly good looking. Which, by the way, she was pretty impressed with, because usually she wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between Brad Pitt and the skinny kid who worked at Subway when she had been drinking tequila.

She lay back against the pillows again, trying to remember what had happened. Obviously, it had started with the tequila and the club. Then, she could recall dancing, slow and dirty, with the Hot Guy currently next to her. He had been wearing a leather jacket, and the danger that lay under his features was probably what drew her in. And that long hair. She’d always had a thing for bad boys.

But, alas, that is where she stopped remembering things in any sort of detail. There was _possibly_ a cab. There _may_ have been more tequila back at his apartment. She did, _potentially_ , dance in her underwear on his coffee table, but that might be just a bad dream. The only thing she could be sure of, she thought as she looked at the dark hair and bare shoulder across the tangled sheets, was that they had a lot of sex.

On the way back from peeing quietly in his immaculate bathroom, she praised whatever Asgardian god was looking out for her that she (a) found her bag by his bedroom door, and that (b) her phone was still inside the bag. There were 7 missed calls and 2 texts from Jane, a picture of Sam with shaving cream all over his face from Clint, and another text from Bruce. She ignored Clint’s picture – she had not even had her coffee yet – and then blearily read the texts from Jane and Bruce.

Jane: _Where are you??? You didn’t text when you got home, pls confirm you’re alive?_

Jane: _Darcy pick up. Stark is gonna start noticing that you don’t come to work, and he’s gonna stop paying you_

Bruce: _Jane has had 6 coffees and 3 red bulls. Get here asap._

Darcy chuckled to herself and rolled her eyes; they were acting like she was – _holy shit_ , she was nearly two hours late for work. And she was currently squatting in some dude’s apartment, ass as bare as the day she was born, with no idea where she was, and she was pretty sure she was still drunk.

“Son of a motherless whore,” she whispered passionately.

She vowed to never drink tequila for the millionth time as she nearly fell over trying to shove skinny jeans back on. Apparently they had not made it to the bedroom; her jacket was on the floor in the hallway; her jeans were under a cushion on his sofa; her top and bra in the kitchen, and her heels just outside his bedroom. Her panties were nowhere to be seen. She had guiltily nabbed a pair of his clean boxers from a washing basket sitting on the floor, hoping that he would remember all their great sex rather than the fact that she stole his boxers.

She found a piece of paper in his kitchen and scrawled her name, number and excuse for leaving on it, stuffing it in her bag so she could leave it on the counter on her way out. She paused in the doorway to his room. He was still asleep, his head turned so that she could appreciate the way the light from the window played across his face. Damn, he really was good looking. She gave herself an actual pat on the back for what must have been a star performance in the club last night.

Suddenly the chorus of _Call Me_ _Maybe_ by Carly Rae Jepsen began blaring obnoxiously in the quiet apartment, and Darcy swore she was going to kill Clint Barton, she was going to actually murder him in his sleep, actual literal violence was going to happen-

Wherever her phone had disappeared to in the abyss of her bag, it didn’t want to be found, and Hot Guy was beginning to stir at the obscene noise, so Darcy resorted to Plan B and made a dash for his front door. She flung herself out into the corridor and shut the door firmly, slumping against the wall as she finally grabbed the offending device from under the clutter of her handbag.

 “Heimdall? I mean, hello? This is Darcy. I am Darcy.” She sighed. She was definitely drunk. She began shuffling along the corridor.

“Darcy? Are you on drugs?” It was Jane again. “God, I have been calling you all morning-”

 “’M coming, ‘m coming. 10 minutes.” She actually didn’t even know where she was, so she was being pretty optimistic at this point as she emerged out of his building and onto the street. She dug sunglasses out of her bag as the sun launched sharp knives of pain into her eyes.

“Are you okay? You’re not actually on drugs are you? That was meant to be a joke.”

“’M fine. Need coffee.”

“I stole Bruce’s good stuff from the cupboard. I’ll make a fresh pot.”

“Mmm,” she groaned incoherently as she tumbled into a cab and told the driver the address. “Be there in 10.”

It was only after she had dug out her purse to pay the driver that she noticed the crumpled up note with her name and number still in her bag. Not in Hot Guy’s apartment.

Shit.

See? Darcy could not handle tequila.

 

***

 

“So, if you don’t remember anything how do you know you even had sex?”

“Walking is quite painful.” Darcy was sprawled on an office chair in Jane’s lab with her hood up, sunglasses on and a mug of coffee in her hand. “And we were both naked.”

“Let’s hope you remembered a condom.” Jane frowned in concentration as she fiddled with a complicated looking machine. “I mean, it’s not like you can check with him, since you ran out on him.”

 “ _Accidentally_ ran out. I panicked.”

“Well, I don’t have a lot of sympathy Darce. You _were_ drinking tequila.”

Darcy slid her glasses down her nose to peer at Jane. “How did you know that?”

Jane looked up from the machine at her like she was wearing a hula skirt in December. “Maybe ‘cause I was _there_ , Darcy?”

“Oh, God, it’s worse than I thought. I really don’t remember anything. What do you mean you were there? Did we have some sort of weird threesome?”

“Yes Darcy. I decided to branch out my sex life and have a threesome with my best friend and a random guy from a club, because, honestly, sex with a demi-God is just plain _boring_.”

“Alright, alright, stupid question.”

Jane sighed. “I mean at the club. Me and Nat left at about 1:30. But I hadn’t seen you dancing with anyone at that point.” She returned to the array of wires and buttons in front of her. “Damn Stark,” she muttered, “I told him the calibration would interfere.” She pushed a button and the machine beeped frantically in protest. “Maybe you’ll run into him again at the same club. Then you can explain.” Darcy opened her mouth but Jane cut in again, “Not tonight though! We have dinner with everyone tonight.”

Darcy snorted. “Do I look like I’m up for going out later? Maybe next weekend. I was just gonna say, if I got lucky enough to see him again, apologising is not all I would do. _Goddamn_ that man was attractive. Had an ass you could bounce a quarter off. Not that I remember seeing it, but he was _built_ , Janie, you know? Huge shoulders. And long hair. You know what long hair does to me.”

“Mm-hm. Hey, hand me that electromagnet. No. The magnet. No, that’s a screwdriver. No. No, that’s a pen. You need to sleep, Darcy. Are you sure you can manage dinner later?”

“I’m not missing it,” she whined. “I wanna meet Barnes. Everyone’s already met him, even you, which I still think is unfair because you have poor people skills.”

Jane frowned at her. “Don’t pigeonhole me just because I’m a scientist.”

“You ran Thor over twice when you first met him.”

“Yes?”

Darcy blinked. “…Most people don’t enjoy being run over?” she offered. “I know _I_ don’t.”

“Whatever. At least I didn’t tase him. I, unlike some people, am a sensible adult.”

“Yes you are. A very sensible adult, with jam in her hair. Adulthood doesn’t get more serious than that.”

Jane gasped, patting her head and finding the strawberry jam that was smeared through the front of her hair. “Regardless of the jam in my hair, my people skills are just fine. If anything, _you_ have poor people skills.”

“I’m a very likeable person, I think you’ll find. Everyone likes me.”

Jane shook her head. “You get really weird when you’re hungover. I’m worried you’re going to lick his arm or something.”

Darcy opened her mouth to protest, but then she closed it reluctantly. “I’m sure we would both enjoy it.”

Jane sighed and looked at her watch. “Go and sleep it off. You can make it up to me by being normal tonight.”

Darcy could have cried. She swore she could see the outline of a halo around Jane’s head, and a beam of holy light streaming in from the window. “You’re a better God than Thor, Janie. Are you sure?” She was already shoving her phone in her bag and standing but, hey, she liked to be polite.

“Go. I’ll call you to wake you up before dinner.”

“For the record, I’m finding this role-reversal thing really weird. Responsibility does not suit you.” She dropped a kiss on her friend’s cheek. “Love you.”

“Brush your teeth,” Jane called after her.

 

***

 

After several grilled cheese sandwiches, 6 hours of sleep, and 2 hours spent washing and dressing, Darcy emerged from her apartment feeling like she had been reborn. Her hair was glossy and soft, her skin clear and bright, her mouth painted with lipstick and her dress classy.

Jane had called to say she and Thor were already upstairs in the common room, where the Avengers + significant others + significant other’s lab assistants were gathering for a civilised dinner. The word _civilised_ had actually been on the email, in bold. Darcy guessed it was because of the goat incident, but she could be wrong.

Most of the various superheroes were already there when Darcy arrived, and she was greeted by an array of nods, hugs and hellos.

Natasha made a beeline for her. “So, I’ve been talking to Jane,” she began.

Darcy glared across the room at Jane, who obliviously carried on talking to Thor. “Whatever she said about last night, she’s lying.”

Steve appeared. “What happened last night?”

 “She drank tequila,” Nat replied.

Steve’s eyes lit up, but he tried to rearrange his features into a frown. “Darcy, no. What happened?”

Nat shrugged apologetically when Darcy shot her a dirty look. “Nothing bad!”

“She went home with some guy.”

“Romanoff,” Darcy hissed, and then smiled at Steve. “I was super in control and sensible.”

“Jane said you had a lot of sex with him, then stole his boxers and left before he woke up.” Natasha took a sip of her vodka martini.

Steve grinned. “That’s pretty tame compared to what we’ve seen. Maybe you’re losing your edge. You want a drink?”

Darcy all but gagged at the thought of alcohol. “Gonna stick with water tonight.”

“I’m not surprised,” Natasha remarked.

Steve looked up over Darcy’s shoulder and smiled. “Hey, Bucky’s here.”

Darcy ignored Natasha’s comment and smoothed her dress out, turning around to meet Bucky Barnes, and that was when she came face to face with the one night stand that she had ditched less than 12 hours ago.

She blinked a few times. Opened her mouth and closed it. Looked at his metal arm. Looked back at his face, which was equally as surprised, but a perhaps tone less horrified as he stared right back at her. A feeling of dread sunk over her as she came to an awful conclusion: she had banged Captain America’s best friend. She had banged him without even knowing it was _him_ , and she had no memory of banging him. She had stolen his boxers. She had banged him, forgotten everything that she did, run out on him and then bragged about it to Jane. How had she missed his goddamn _metal arm_? How had she missed the fact that she had banged _Bucky Fucking Barnes_?

“Darcy, this is Bucky, Buck, Darcy Lewis.”

Bucky’s features had rearranged into an expression less of shock, and more of amusement. He began grinning, and turned to Steve with a laugh. “Funny story-”

“Nice to meet you,” Darcy exclaimed loudly, and shoved her hand towards his chest. There was no way she was being outed about this right before a sit down meal that was likely to last hours. He paused, confusion flickering over his face, and she widened her eyes pointedly.

He raised his eyebrows at her before shaking her hand slowly, the amusement still clear in his features. “Pleasure’s all mine. You sure we haven’t met before?”

“I think I would have remembered,” she said.

He was still shaking her hand. “You would think.”

And this _exact_ sort of situation, she reminded herself 10 minutes later, was why she never, ever, ever should drink tequila. Because now she was sat opposite Barnes: super soldier, avenger, Russian spy, World War Two vet, man who now thought she was a total weirdo; and she was acting like he wasn’t the one who had given her hickeys that were on her thighs while everyone made pleasant conversation.

Well, when she said _pleasant_ …

“And I told him, you know, you can’t bring a dildo that big into a black tie event,” Tony was saying, balancing pasta on his fork. “It’s just not the etiquette.”

“So how big a dildo can you bring?” Clint said.

Darcy risked a glance across the table. He was looking right at her. She frowned at him sternly, and his lips curved up. He was smirking at her; a lazy, ridiculously good looking smirk, and he glanced at the rest of the dinner party with a sort of cunning look in his eye that made Darcy’s stomach twist. She waited for him to look back at her and then shook her head vehemently. His smirk turned into a smile.

“So, Darce, I heard you got lucky last night,” Sam said from next to her. Bucky’s smile became a full on grin. Thankfully, everyone else was too engrossed in deciding what size dildo was socially acceptable at a black tie event to get involved in Sam’s change of topic.

“Well,” she cleared her throat and looked away from Bucky, “I mean, you hear a lotta things, and people like to exaggerate. Have those breadsticks got sesame on them?”

“C’mon, you make me sit here and listen to details every time you score. At least tell me what he looked like.”

Darcy took a gulp of water and looked up at Bucky. “He was… forgettable,” she said, eying his left arm. “No distinguishing features.” Bucky cleared his throat to hide his laugh.

“Apparently you said walking was quite painful.” Bucky chocked on his beer across the table. “That doesn’t sound forgettable.”

Darcy was seething. “Is there anyone Jane hasn’t talked to?! You would think the people who save the world would have a higher level of integrity. Jane talks a lot of bullshit, Sam. She talks bullshit and she runs over strange men, and she walks around with jam in her hair.”

“Hey, that’s why I’m asking you and not taking her word for it! So I’m guessing you didn’t say that, then.”

Darcy swore under her breath and took another gulp of water, and wondered if she should just make a run for it. How long would it take to hitchhike to Canada?

Sam was grinning at her silence. “Oh, you _did_ say that. Lewis, you’re surrounded by professional spies, you can’t get away with lies around here.”

She snorted at that, meeting Bucky’s eyes. “Of course I can’t. What was I thinking?”

 

***

 

Darcy excused herself after karaoke was suggested, because she definitely needed to be drunk for that, and there was also only so many of Bucky’s suggestive comments and glances she could take before she was going to spontaneously combust out of embarrassment. The elevator doors were just closing when a hand appeared in the gap and they sprung open again, and Darcy wasn’t even surprised. She had already been surprised enough for the whole year.

“So, walking was quite painful, huh?”

He stood in the elevator with an ease and grace that reminded her of a big cat; he was cocky, self assured, lazy, but there was a concurrent alertness to him. She pointed a finger at him sharply. “I was hungover and that was an exaggeration.”

He shrugged, and she knew he definitely did not believe her. “Broke my heart when I woke up and you were gone, doll.” He leaned forward, biting his lip. “Was looking forward to showing you around the place a bit more.”

“From where my various pieces of clothing were, it seemed like you already had,” she shot back at him, and realised too late that by his smirk, that was exactly what he had meant.

“Only place you didn’t get to see was the bathroom.” The lazy way his lips moved was really starting to get to her. “The water pressure in my shower is really good.”

There was only one way to play this, Darcy thought. She had to flirt right back at him. He would stop enjoying it so much if she stopped being so embarrassed. “Don’t worry, the pressure in mine was just fine this morning.”

His eyebrows raised and he licked his lips. Darcy couldn’t tell whether he did it consciously or not, but either way, it was messing with her head. “You live in the tower?”

She glared at him. “You’re not coming back to my apartment, Barnes.”

He looked at her with wide, innocent eyes. “Hey, woah, I was just wondering which floor number to press. Don’t know where you got that idea from, doll, I like to buy dinner for a girl before I let her take me home.”

Darcy couldn’t believe this was happening. She was being sassed by James Barnes in an elevator, and she could feel that her face was hot. Darcy didn’t do _blushing_. Blushing was for people who got embarrassed by things, and that was not something she was in the habit of doing. She hated him for it, _and_ for the way she couldn’t stop looking at his lips.

“Ground floor. I live offsite,” she said through gritted teeth, crossing her arms stubbornly, only to drop them again when his eyes dipped down to her chest. “I could tell on you. They would all make fun of you too.”

“Go ahead. I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of; I didn’t run out on you.” His smirk was getting downright infuriating.

“I didn’t run out,” she seethed, “I forgot to leave a note when my boss called me.”

“Oh, _sure_ …”

She held up a finger and rummaged in her bag. “I can prove it. Ha!” She triumphantly held up the crumpled piece of paper with her name and number. “See?” She waved it in his face.

He sceptically took the note between his fingers, scanning over her cramped handwriting. Then he dug his phone out of his pocket and began copying her number into it.

“Hey, what are you doing?” she snapped, making a grab for the paper. He dodged easily, not even taking his eyes off his phone. “Hey!”

“How else am I gonna call you to ask you out?” he said with a smile.

“You- what? Wait-”

He put his phone away and handed back the paper. The elevator doors pinged open, but it was Steve’s floor, not the ground floor.

“Oh, and can I get my boxers back at some point? They’re my favourite pair.”

He stepped out of the elevator, and she gaped at him before recovering. “Only if I get my panties back.”

He grinned. “Seems fair. I’ll give you a call, doll.”

And then the elevator doors closed, and the last she saw of him was his stupid smirk, and his tongue darting out over his lips, and she was suddenly annoyed all over again about her lack of memory.

 

In the end, it didn’t matter that she couldn’t remember that night, because she remembered Friday night just fine. And all the nights after that.


	8. Truth or Dare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soulmate au prompt: I'll give you twenty bucks if you let me kiss you  
> Featuring drunk Jane Foster and Sam and Steve being bros.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back by unpopular demand with more soulmate au oneshots. Enjoy :)

“Just go talk to her,” Steve says.

Sam chimes in, “C’mon, man, everyone in this bar is gettin’ tired of you mooning after her!”

“What’s the worst that could happen, Bucky? I used to have to drag you away from girls and now-”

“What’s the worst that could- Steve, are you serious? Have you seen this thing?” He shoves his metal hand in Steve’s face, waggling the fingers. “What’s the worst that could happen,” he mutters, taking a sip of his beer. “Shoulda known that’d be your fuckin’ motto.”

“Could I just point out, for the record, that Lewis is currently poking Natasha,” Sam says, nodding behind him across the crowded bar where Darcy sits with Natasha and Jane.

Steve swivels his head around. “Talk about poking the bear.”

Bucky lets out a dramatic sigh and looks heavenward. Ever since Lewis started working in the tower, Steve has been trying to set them up. It’s not that Lewis isn’t attractive; she is. He turns and lets his eyes slide over to where she’s prodding Natasha’s ribs with a delighted grin on her face, yelling, “How are you not ticklish?!”

 Okay, so she’s _very_ attractive. Extremely attractive. The sort of girl that he would have lost all sort of common sense for back in Brooklyn. In 1942, he amends, because, technically, this bar is still in Brooklyn, even though it feels like another city. But her curves and lips and hair and eyes mean nothing to him now. Or rather, he’s not letting them mean anything because he knows there is no way in hell that would ever work, so he may as well save himself the trouble now.

“… and it’s got, like, 20 times the amount of power. Says she should test it on you, Barnes and Thor, then give him a report on its effectiveness. Just a heads up.”

“What?” Bucky frowns at Sam.

“Stark made her a new taser. Little stronger than her regular one.”

“Well there you go, see, if something, you know,” Steve makes a flailing gesture at his metal arm, “ _happened_ , she could always tase you.”

Sam spits out half his drink while Bucky glowers.

“What?” Steve protests, whacking Sam on the shoulder. “I was being serious!”

“The worst part is I believe you,” Bucky says.

“So,” Steve smiles at him and nods his head, probably in an attempt to look supportive, but actually looking closer to some form of hen or chicken. “Are you gonna go talk to her?”

Bucky sighs again.

 

**

 

“How are you not ticklish?!” Darcy grins.

Natasha’s face doesn’t even crack a little bit. Pure stoicism. Like a statue staring back at her. Like a painting of a beautiful and mysterious muse, who isn’t at all concerned with someone persistently poking her in the ribs as she sits poised for her lover to paint her before she leaves him in the night.

“I’m just not,” she replies with a shrug. Then she gets that glint in her eye. “Are you?”

“Am I ticklish? Me? Ha! No,” Darcy says, withdrawing her hand and shifting backwards, “No, no, not at all. Not in the slightest. Not me.”

“Well, let’s just hope you never have to lie about anything important, Darcy,” Jane says sourly, knocking back the remainder of her fourth gin and tonic of the night.

“Don’t start getting all grouchy with me just because your boyfriend’s flying around space for a few weeks,” Darcy says, pointing a finger at Jane and taking a gulp of her vodka. “This is a girls’ night. No moping about because of a boy.”

 Jane cackles with laughter and Natasha hides her smirk behind her elegant martini glass.

“What?”

“You’re a goddamn hypocrite, that’s what!” Jane laughs loudly, slapping the table between them with her hand.

Darcy looks at Natasha, who offers her no help, and then back at Jane’s triumphant face. “No I’m not!”

“Oh, _excuse_ me,” Jane says, gesturing wilding with her arm and nearly knocking Darcy’s drink over, “I guess I must have made up the dozen times tonight that you’ve stared at Bucky’s ass and drooled onto the table!”

Darcy’s mouth falls open and she smacks Jane’s shoulder. “Would you shut up! Jesus, why don’t you stand up so the whole fucking bar can hear you?” She glances around and checks that Bucky, Steve and Sam are still safely out of earshot at the bar. “And anyway, that’s not even true, alright, I’m not looking at Barnes, I was trying to get the bartender’s attention.”

“That’s even less convincing than when you lied about being ticklish,” Natasha says, rolling her eyes.

Darcy glares at her two friends – she uses the term loosely – and sips her drink. “We’re changing the subject, okay – I mean, I’m not even moping about him.” Another sip of the vodka. “I mean, objectively, is he attractive? Yes. That’s just a fact. I’m not denying that he’s- y’know, he’s got a lot going for him, that body, the whole hair thing- not that I’ve _looked_ or anything, ‘cause I haven’t, alright, I’m just acknowledging that he’s, well, _hot_.” Her eyes have wondered over to where Bucky is sitting, and she sighs. “He’s just really hot.”

“Oh, God, it’s worse than I thought,” Jane hoots.

Darcy, realising what she’s just said aloud, throws back the rest of her drink and winces at the burn.

“Look, you can’t hold me accountable when he’s sitting right there and I’m three drinks in,” she protests. “We’re not talking about it anymore. Jane. Tell Natasha that story where you burnt all the hair off that guy with your machine-”

“As good as that story sounds,” Natasha interrupts, “I for one am really enjoying teasing you about Barnes.”

“Yes,” Jane high fives Natasha. “Oh and would you look at that? I need ‘nother drink. From the bar over there,” she mumbles with a grin, and squints one eye shut to aim her finger gun at Bucky’s ass, perched on the bar stool facing away from them.

Darcy lunges to bat her hand down as Natasha laughs unhelpfully. “Jane, you’re a very annoying drunk, you know that? Do not go over to that bar. No, I’m serious, I can and I will hide your coffee.”

“Calm down, _Lewis_ , Jesus, I’m just getting a drink,” she says, holding her hands out in what she probably means as a placating gesture. “And telling Bucky that you want to have lots of sex and babies with him.” She descends into laughter, and Darcy looks murderously at Natasha.

“Don’t think I’ll forget that you’re just sitting there letting this happen,” Darcy tells her.

“I’m offended, Darce.” She places a manicured hand delicately over her heart. “I would never leave you high and dry.” She slides her half full martini glass to Jane. “There; fresh drink. Now, I’ve got a better idea than embarrassing Darcy, Barnes and yourself at the bar – why don’t we play truth or dare?”

Jane’s expression perks up. “I’m in. Darcy can go first.”

“Wait, hold up, why am I going first?”

“Dibs not first,” Jane and Natasha say at the same time.

Natasha smiles. “Looks like you’re first.”

Darcy narrows her eyes at them both. “Fine. Do your worst.”

Natasha gets that look in her eye, and Darcy thinks maybe she’s being had as Natasha leans over to Jane and whispers something, and Jane starts grinning like a maniac.

“Okay,” says Natasha. “We dare you to go and kiss Bucky on the lips for 20 seconds.”

Now, Darcy’s stomach may have just fallen out of her ass, but she’s got a reputation to uphold here, and she is not one to back down from a challenge. She looks between Jane and Nat, both of them wearing the same satisfied smile, and then over at the back of Bucky’s head, and then down to her empty glass.

“What happens if I don’t?” she says slowly.

Jane snorts. “I’ll tell Barton you backed down.”

Darcy narrows her eyes. “Never. You want a kiss? You’re gonna get a goddamn kiss, you goddamn voyeurs.”

She grabs the martini glass in front of Jane and knocks it back, stands, takes a breath, straightens her dress out and then makes a beeline for Bucky.

 

**

 

“Oh, dude, on your six,” Sam says with a grin.

“What?” Bucky frowns.

“Turn around,” Steve hisses. As Bucky is turning, he hears Steve say, “Get your phone out. Time to even the score a little.”

But then he’s not listening to a word Steve or Sam are saying because Darcy Lewis is walking towards him and she’s looking him right in the eye as she does; her dark hair loose from its usual work ponytail and her dress a hell of a lot shorter and tighter than he sees her in at the tower. She turns the heads of plenty of guys as she walks, but her gaze never leaves him, and she doesn’t stop walking until she’s standing right in front of him, so close that she’s nearly touching his knees where they bend as he’s sitting on the bar stool.

He jumps off the stool, remembering his manners, and is about to say something – what, he has no idea – when she speaks first.

“This is gonna sound weird, but I’ll give you twenty bucks if you let me kiss you.”

His whole body tenses and he can feel his heart take off dramatically upon hearing the words that have been inked onto his ribs since birth. He may have technically worked as a spy for the better part of 70 years, but he has absolutely no control over his expression as she stands in front of him, teeth digging into her lip and hands fidgeting by her sides; he’s pretty sure his jaw has hit the ground and he works to close his mouth hastily, mind racing over her words, and he realises he still hasn’t said anything, but he doesn’t think he can respond to that in any way that won’t embarrass himself.

He licks his lips out of nervousness, and her eyes follow the movement before snapping back to his, and she must see something in his eyes that encourages her, because she’s stepping forward into his personal space and she smells heady, sweet and slightly of vodka, and he can barely think straight. She pauses, eyes locked with his, and he appreciates her question; the choice she’s giving him, and he can’t do anything but lean forward, falling into her, pressing his lips against hers.

At first, it’s a chaste touch; warm and soft, but then she lets out a breathy gasp against his mouth and one of her hands lands on his shoulder, and he can’t help but kiss her properly. And it’s all the clichés about soulmates; she feels right, she feels like home, they fit together like they’ve known each other their whole lives.

His hands find her waist as he opens his mouth a little against hers, and she stumbles forward until her chest is pressed against his and finally their tongues meet and it’s like everything around him either explodes or disappears – he doesn’t know or care which – all he can sense is Darcy. He’s all but forgotten where they are until they both pull back a little to breath, and then there’s a sudden rush of sound as the loud bar comes crashing back to him.

They’re pressed against each other, his arms encircling her and hers gripping his neck, breathing hard and staring at each other, each wondering what the hell just happened.

“That was one hell of a kiss,” he says, voice a little rough.

Her hands tighten around his neck, her eyes widen and her lips part in shock. “What?”

He swallows. “You heard me.”

“Did I… Did I say-”

“Yeah, doll. Gotta tell you, could give a guy a complex growing up with words like that.”

She breathes out a sigh and grins at him. “How do you think I felt? All that pressure to be some amazing kisser.”

He smiles down at her. “I guess since we’re soulmates, I’ll probably give you a discount on the kiss.”

She presses her lips together in an effort not to laugh. “Can I get a loyalty card or something?”

“What, you planning on coming back for more, sweetheart?”

“Oh, I might be,” she says, and she kisses him again right there in the bar, and neither of them care very much that Sam and Steve have filmed the whole thing or that Jane and Natasha have taken about 30 pictures, and really it doesn’t matter anyway because they don’t end up staying at the bar for very long after that.


End file.
